My friends—I love you. Not “like” like the way I “like” a food that I might have a bad experience with later (food poisoning) and then hate afterwards because of fear or a whim. The next time you feel alone or sad, think of me, the crocodile with a constantly open mouth—and imagine yourself throwing me raw chickens. I can be imagined anywhere—the shower, the tub, the toilet, the sink. You can throw me foods other than the raw chicken, such as your enemies, your homework, that car that cut you off in traffic today.